I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Month: May 2017
Doubtful or disparaged, hopeful, hopeless, or just damn happy; everybody feels exactly that way, at some point.
We are human, each with the capacity for a whole gamut of emotion, and we all go through ups and downs. It is only natural.
Often we don’t have to think about the highs, but the lows can trigger feelings of inadequacy or worse. Things may not be going as planned, or how you wanted . . . or at all. You get down on yourself, or somebody else, or the whole world that seems to pass you by. You can feel trapped, alone, or unsettled, as if you are the only person who has been through this shit before.
The uncertainty is unsettling. You feel nobody cares and then begin to care for yourself less than you should. It takes a bit of gumption; it is hard to admit you are not on your game.
Sometimes you can’t even admit to yourself exactly why you are feeling the way you do.
But you have to let it out. It will eat you up from the inside if you can’t find an outlet.
Writing in a journal will, indeed, track your thoughts, and patterns, and may (in the long run) offer answers and insight, but your feelings need a stronger voice.
Speak up.
Talk to someone.
Who will listen? It may be a person close to the situation, or a professional who can offer an outside perspective, perhaps even a friend?
Your friend may not have any idea what you are experiencing, or know exactly what’s going on, but that should not matter.
With a friend, you don’t even have to broach the topic.
Sometimes just talking, making a human connection, and knowing another person is listening is enough to restore some feelings of self-confidence, or put you in a better mind frame.
Talking lets you know somebody is listening.
Remember: someone cares; somebody feels, or has felt, just like you.
Everybody feels that way some time.
05/08/2017 j.g.l.
Posted on May 7, 2017 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Aged and infirmed,
cancer-ridden and cantankerous;
a rogue among the dying, diseased,
and demented, caught
sneaking a cigarette Discounting
the munificence of borrowed time.
Hacking, then spitting, a milky blend
of blood-tarnished phlegm and
syrupy saliva onto the hospital’s
freshly-polished linoleum.
Fuck you whore, his clarion call
of protest to the night-shift nurse,
attempting to seize the shouldering
butt. A forced, yet sincere, smile
as she successfully snatched the
contraband from the wizened,
gnarled hand. Already tired
of tucking these inglorious bastards
into bed, she will leave the spittle
for the morning crew. They could
deal with the shit, piss, or blood
that would surely flow
through the night. Indignation
below her pay grade.
©2017 j.g. lewis
Poem Kubili is an international
companionship of poets with
a common love of writing and
reading poetry. To read more of
of the group’s collected works
visit poemkubili.com
